


A Fuzzy Construct

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Complete, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder has to make a choice between Scully or his sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fuzzy Construct

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during his dream sequence in The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati.

"You really don’t have to leave here, Mulder. I don’t understand why you would," the Cigarette Smoking Man said, exhaling deeply. A particularly large plume of smoke came forth and dissipated as Mulder raised a hand to clear it away. He coughed a little, and Old Smokey took that as a sign to put his cigarette out. "You can have possibly anything you ever wanted. You’ve seen Samantha, saw how happy she was, didn’t you?"

"Well, yeah," Mulder responded, shrugging and remembering he was only in a hospital gown. He glanced down at his hands and remembered that not only was he handcuffed, but some of his fingers were bound together in support, having broke them trying to break out of the mental facility only a day or so prior. They didn’t even hurt anymore. He started to remove the bindings, and glanced up at CSM, still wary of the man’s intentions. "But how do I know that’s really her? I’ve seen so many clones of her—how can I know for sure that she is indeed my sister?"

"You really don’t know until you speak to her. I think you should. I think you should take a look around, spend a couple days here without worry and come back to me when you feel you’re ready to make up your mind. If you decide to leave, I’ll take you back to your old life." CSM said, rising and holding out his hand to Mulder. Mulder did not take it, as he was using his teeth to cut through the bindings, and remove them. After a couple of moments of removing the bindings, he presented his handcuffed wrists to the older man, like a boy who was asking for food.

"I need these off before I can do anything, sir." Mulder said, with a chuckle of amusement, the Cigarette Smoking Man uncuffed him, and took a step away from Mulder, in case he should want to lash out. To his surprise, Mulder made a beeline to the fridge, opening it and studying the contents once more. This caused CSM to chuckle again; watching Mulder was like watching a fox that had been let out of captivity. Naturally, it would first go for some food.  
  
"Find things to your liking? Well, I have a dinner to attend. If you need anything, I’m just next door. You have clothes upstairs. I’d freshen up; I heard some friends were going to pass on by." Mulder was only half listening now, because he was busy trying to decide where to start on the food. He hadn’t really eaten in days—not since before this all started— and now that things seemed to be relatively calm, he wanted to concentrate on resting. His head was still throbbing some, and his legs felt weak.

"What about Scully?" Mulder finally asked, but by then, the Cigarette Smoking Man was gone, and Mulder was alone in the modest two story home.

When he had finally found something decent to wear, and eaten something more substantial than blueberry pie, he sat down at the table, to make a phone call to Scully. As he started to dial, he realized slowly, that he didn’t remember Scully’s number or in fact, who Scully was. He remembered Scully as a fuzzy construct, someone that might have once existed in the deepest folds in his mind. He started to wonder, if perhaps she was real—but then he felt a soft sensation against his neck. When he looked down, he saw he was wearing a crucifix. Did he always have it? He couldn’t recall, but as he sat there, the doorbell to the front of his home rang, and so he stood to open the door.

No, he was sure he hadn’t had the crucifix before. He passed by a hallway mirror, and caught a glimpse of himself in it, but something was very wrong. There was a very brief flash of _something_ when he saw himself in a hospital gown, on an operating table, with a very delicate procedure being performed on his head. There was a searing pain in his head, and he nearly doubled over. Panic set in, and the only coherent thought that kept repeating in his mind was,  _something is really wrong here_ _._ But as suddenly as it had all happened, it stopped, and he was left wondering what the vision meant. The mirror looked normal again, and the doorbell rang a little more insistently.

"I’m here, I’m here," Mulder said, as he opened the door. His sister Samantha was there with a wrapped box for him. "Hey!" He stepped aside to let her in, and she walked inside, using her hand to brush a couple of stray locks of hair out of her face.

"Fox, it’s so good to see you… I didn’t think you would see me ever again. Are you living here now? Oh you have to meet my family… how is mom and dad? How is everything? I’m just so glad to see you!" She said, and Mulder chuckled uncertainly, because it was all very sudden, and he didn’t know how or where to start.

He wandered into the living room, with his sister in tow, as he unwrapped the gift that she had brought him. The logical part of his brain told him that she had to have known before hand that he was coming or else she wouldn’t’ve have time to wrap the gift, and therefore, to be on guard, because how could she have known before he did that he would be here. It was the second inconsistency, that he had encountered since his arrival, but he brushed it aside when he happened upon the gift: Stratego, the board game they had been playing the night she’d been taken. She had a strange sense of humor, that one. He glanced over at her, and she smiled at him brightly, obviously pleased with herself, like the cat who caught the canary; with too many teeth, and a little  _too_ pleased with herself.

Smiling nervously, Mulder took a seat on the recliner, as his sister sat on the couch. He was on guard, because he had been subjected to this scene more than once and he knew that getting emotionally invested in his sister—or her lookalike never had any good outcomes. There was a faint voice in the back of his head—not quite his conscience, because it was a female voice, but it said,  _Mulder do not trust her. Don’t trust any of them. You have to fight._

"Fox, your hands are shaking. Are you feeling okay?"

Samatha’s voice brought him back to the living room and he nodded.

"Yeah, just tired. We traveled a long distance to get here… where ever we are. Thanks for the gift, it was very thoughtful of you. I want to meet your family. Maybe I could come over for dinner tomorrow or something. I’m afraid I’m still getting used to this, I guess." Mulder paused in his musing, admiring the board game absently.

"Should I leave? You know I live next door, right? You should come over tomorrow for breakfast. Meet my husband. I’ve told him so much about you already." She said, standing up. Mulder glanced up at her, the logical part of his brain questioning how she knew, but he said nothing, instead standing and giving her a hug. In silence, he walked with her to the door, bidding her goodbye and promising to be with her at breakfast the next day.

The rest of the night was largely uneventful. He spent most of the time exploring the house, glancing inside doors, and inspecting the belongings. He found it odd that the house was already furnished with personal effects, but as time grew on, he grew less and less suspicious. When he was comfortable with the house, he finally crawled into bed, burrowing under the sheets and hoping to fall asleep quickly. 

_"Mulder, you need to wake up and fight. You need to remember who I am. It’s me Mulder, it’s your partner—your friend—it’s Scully.  I’m speaking to you now, not as a person, but as your voice of reason. This is not the life you were meant to have. It’s not real, none of it is. I am fighting to show you this but it is getting harder and harder to talk to you. Mulder, please. Listen—do you hear the steady dull beep? It’s a cardiograph. You’re dying Mulder, can’t you see that?"  
_

Mulder awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. In his dream, Scully’s face and voice were so clear, and he wanted to believe, but how could none of it be real? How could this place, with his sister not be real, and a disembodied voice in his head be reality? Had he really lost his mind? He remembered bits and pieces of what happened prior to his arrival, but it was starting to fade. The crucifix that was around his neck seemed to get slightly tighter than it was yesterday, and part of him told him, it was important to remember it, but he couldn’t figure out why. He knew it had to do with the voice in his head.

The voice that called itself Scully, and promised reality or his sister, who he had been searching for so long? No one was really making his choose, but at the same time, he had to tell the Cigarette Smoking Man what he thought. What an odd dilemma, having to depend on the man he had once hated so much now. Without him, he’d be lost. This amused Mulder, and he rubbed his forehead, that searing pain he experienced just the day before returning and going just as quickly as it had came. How odd.


End file.
